Bag of Holding
by kurushi
Summary: Once every fortnight, Hermione has her friends over and Ron goes out with Harry for dinner.  When Ron comes home early one night, he discovers that these haven't been the girls' nights in he'd thought they were.  One-shot flashfiction.


_Disclaimer: I have no rights here of course, but I have bought all the books, and I do not intend to commodify or profit from Rowling's IP. I simply want to show my appreciation the best way that I can._

**Bag of Holding**

Ron had gone out to dinner with Harry. They had headed from work straight to The Leaky Cauldron and had enjoyed a greasy, deep-fried mess of food that Hermione would have made a disgusted face at. In the darkness of the pub, with a cold leftover chip in his left hand and a firewhisky in his right, he felt at peace. He found himself enjoying married life, though they'd only been in their flat for two weeks. Though he'd been a little worried about it – as full of newlywed giddy joy as he was – Hermione's idea of having her friends around one night every fortnight while Ron went out with his was utterly brilliant.

A night of unaccountability and freedom. He'd never noticed before, but Hermione assured him that these evenings had been going on for her for the two years since they'd graduated from Hogwarts. He supposed that when they'd both lived in their parents' houses he hadn't been a witness to her every day. He still wasn't used to it, and after two weeks a breather really was delicious.

Harry smiled crookedly at him. "I'm not sure I want to know what you're thinking about, mate."

Ron shrugged, and waved his chip at the pub in general. "This? It's damn good."

Harry laughed, and shook his head. "Well, that as may be, but if I don't get to bed early enough to babysit Teddy tomorrow, Andromeda will have my head on a well polished silver platter."

Ron sighed. It was only half ten! But he let Harry cajole him away from his leftovers and into the street. Hermione had reminded him to just get a cab home that morning. Now, with alcohol and battered fish heavy in his gut, Ron was glad of the advice. He'd have hated to trip over and be overcome with nausea at a time like this. Especially if Hermione's friends hadn't all cleared out yet.

He thanked the Muggle man behind the wheel awkwardly when the car pulled up outside his flat. He tried to offer Harry a galleon, but Harry insisted that he cover the fare. Since Ron still only really had an entry-level salary, he didn't argue the point at all. Just fumbled his way up the stairwell and leant blearily on their front door as he fished in his pockets for his keys.

He paused in abrupt shock as he heard a very deep and male laugh echo within his own flat. With his own wife inside it, too!

His search was fueled by fury now, his heart fluttering with panic and fear in his throat. It fought with the fumes of the firewhisky and his own bile for prominence, though they all seemed to be present in pretty damn decent amounts.

He hear a clatter, like a bag of marbles. More than one male voice cried out in dismay, and Hermione's clear delightful voice cackled in glee.

_There!_ Ron had the keys, and then had them in the lock. He shoved his way in, very ready to be red in the face and indignant, when he realised what he was seeing. Clustered around their coffee table was a group of Muggles of various ages. One of them was young, thin and pimply but the rest were quite well padded, as Muggles went. Four men with beer bellies hanging over slacks and one woman wearing a t-shirt that had, of all things, a pentacle on it.

Hermione was sitting in their armchair, a little separate from the group. She had one of their nesting endtables at her elbow, and there were books and a very mystical looking pouch sitting on top of it. Her right hand was raised, and it was flexing around some small bright shiny things. Ron did the only thing that he could think of, really. He smiled weakly and waved back. Then he apologised.

"Sorry I'm home early."

Hermione smiled and shook her head. "_I'm_ sorry. If these guys had picked their feats right last level, this wouldn't have taken them so long. I'm tempted to just call it a TPK and kick them out... these are _only_ Kobolds, guys!"

She waved at a vinyl mat on the coffee table, that had small plastic figurines clustering in two groups. Some looked like small people, and the others looked like twisted... house elves? No, they were Muggle things. Ron must have drunk more than he thought he had. He was sure that if he showed any confusion he'd receive an epic lecture on whatever a TPK was, so it was safer to just smile, nod, and get out of the room as soon as he possibly could.

"Ah, fair enough. Hey, did Percy give you that... thing... at work? That Mum said she'd pass on for me?"

Hermione nodded, and then smirked. "It's in my Bag of Holding, Ron."

Oh, that. She was _still_ using that as her handbag. It was bloody useful, admittedly, but pretty damned ratty after all these years. He shambled across the small living area to the kitchen bench. It had been sold as _open-plan living_, which apparently meant less power points and getting your bookshelves grimy with steam from the cooker. Hermione had charms cast on all her books, but they both couldn't wait till they had enough for a deposit on a real home.

He rummaged around in it for a bit before he found what he wanted. He'd never really got the knack of finding things in it. As his fingers brushed past books, an apple, and a pack of playing cards, he heard one of the men speak up.

"I thought you said he'd never played before!"

"We have a few jokes he understands," she admitted. 'Also, the one on your left is going to move in to flank you. Does a twenty-five hit?"

What the joke was, though, Ron had no idea. The speaker groaned and answered "Yes, it does. Roll damage, you witch!"

Ron stiffened, shocked. Then he forced himself to relax. _That_, at least had been a Muggle joke. Hermione laughed and threw something onto the coffee table. There was a silence as one of the group spoke up. "Five."

"Fuck. If anyone can spare a heal for me anytime soon, I'd be a little happier."

Intrigued, Ron forgot to keep looking in the bag. He walked back over to the coffee table and watched as the Muggles hunched around it. One of them nodded silently, and then threw a green plastic prism onto the coffee table. Ron was sure it had a very long name, and that Hermione knew it and would get that pained look on her face if he had to ask what it was. It landed with the number eighteen facing upwards. It was apparently good, because everyone smiled in relief.

"That's a twenty-three for you! And damage is..." The man shook his hands and some dice rattled around inside. When he threw them down, Ron saw that they were triangular pyramids, the numbers clustered around the points rather than flat on the sides. The points that faced the ceiling had three and one. "... five with the bonus from Bard song."

Hermione made a note on an index card that she retrieved from her lap. "And he's down."

One of the players picked up one of the plastic not-house-elves and removed him from the mat. Ron found himself drawn into it. It seemed a little less structured than chess, but there were certainly rules that applied not only to movement but to each conquest. He sat down cross-legged on the floor to watch the battle, and to pay as much attention to the rules chatter as he could.

Hermione gave him a funny look, and then laughed. "I should have tried running a game for you and Harry years ago, Ron! Don't worry; I've got copies of all the rulebooks, so I can teach you later."

Ron looked across the room and into her eyes. He felt huge and wonderful feelings growing inside his chest that couldn't be explained by any words. Well, Hermione would probably know a word or two for it. But he just couldn't do the feeling justice. He thought he couldn't be happier, hadn't been happier in his whole life, when someone nudged his shoulder with a bowl of chips.

"I bet you're a little shocked that you married such a geek, hey." One of the Muggles was teasing him. He answered as honestly as he could.

"It's the best bloody thing that's ever happened to me!" He couldn't keep the emotion from his voice, or the tears from his eyes. So he just grabbed a handful of chips and watched as Hermione's small plastic monsters knocked out two of the Muggles' humans. Hermione practically beamed at him as she fished in her mysterious pouch for more oddly shaped dice.

When the Muggles had left, promising to come back on the weekend to help with character generation, Ron reached curiously for what Hermione had pointed out to him as the book of the core rules. For the very first night of their lives, they settled down in bed with books in both of their laps. Ron stayed up later than his wife, caught up in the descriptions of some combat related feats. But he could have sworn that she was still awake when he slipped a scrap of paper into the pages of the rulebook and set it down on his bedside table; a soft contented sigh escaped her mouth, and before he had the time to whisper "Nox", she had grabbed his hand in hers and pulled it around her side.

_Endnote: Though it's one day early here (and two in the place it really counts), I've written this in honour of Gary Gygax (27-07-1938 to 04-03-2008). I'm an avid gamer, and Dungeons and Dragons has been a big part of my gaming life. I hope that if there is an afterlife, it comes with a bag of dice and a battlemap. Happy birthday Gygax! I'll be re-opening my household's 1st ed rulebooks and thinking of you tomorrow._


End file.
